by G. A. Henty
One day towards the end of February Harry felt a thrill run through him as, on glancing over the list of persons to be tried on the following day, he saw the name of Marie, daughter of the ci-devant Marquis de St. Caux. Although his knowledge of Robespierre’s character gave him little ground for hope, he determined upon making a direct appeal.
“I see, citizen,” he said—for such was the mode of address universal at that time—“that among the list of persons to be tried is the name of Marie de St. Caux.”
“Say Marie Caux,” Robespierre said reprovingly. “You know de and St. are both forbidden prefixes. Yes; what would you say about her?”
“I told you, citizen, upon the first night when I came here, that I had been in the service of the father of this female citizen. Although I know now that he was one of those who lived upon the blood of the people, I am bound to say that he always treated his dependants kindly. His daughter also showed me many marks of kindness, and this I would now fain return. Citizen, I did you some service on the night when we first met; and I ask you now, as a full quittance for that aid, that you will grant me the freedom of this young woman. Whatever were the crimes of her father, she cannot have shared in them. She is young, and cannot do harm to any; therefore I implore you to give me her life.”
“I am surprised at your request,” Robespierre said calmly. “This woman belongs to a race who have for centuries oppressed France, and it is better that they should perish altogether. If she can convince the tribunal that she is innocent of all crime, undoubtedly she will be spared; but I cannot, only on account of the obligation I am under to you, interfere on her behalf; such an act would be treason to the people, and I hope you know me well enough by this time to be aware that nothing whatever would induce me to allow my private inclinations to interfere with the course of justice. Ask of me all I have, it is little enough, but it is yours; but this thing I cannot grant you.”
For a moment Harry was on the point of bursting out indignantly, but he checked himself and without a word went on with his writing, although tears of disappointment for a time almost blinded him; but he felt it would be hopeless to urge the point further, and that did he do so he might forfeit the opportunity he now had of learning what was going on.
Another month passed before the name appeared on the fatal list. In the meantime Harry had corresponded regularly with Marie by means of the warder, and had even once seen her and exchanged a few words with her, having been sent by Robespierre with a letter to the governor of the prison.
Marie was greatly changed: her colour had faded away, the former somewhat haughty air and carriage had disappeared, and there was an expression of patient resignation on her face. Harry had only the opportunity to whisper to her “Hope always, all is not lost yet.” He had spent hours each day in his lodging imitating the signature of Robespierre, and he had made up his mind that, should all other efforts fail, he would boldly present himself at the prison with an order for Marie’s release, with Robespierre’s signature forged at the bottom.
He thought he could write it now plainly enough for it to pass; his fear was that the prison authorities would not act upon it, unless presented by a well-known official personage, without sending to Robespierre to have it verified.
Still but little change had taken place in Victor de Gisons’ condition. He remained in a state almost of lethargy, with an expression of dull hopelessness on his face; sometimes he passed his hand wearily across his forehead as if he were trying to recollect something he had lost; he was still too weak to stand, but Jacques and his wife would dress him and place him on a couch which Harry purchased for his use. The worthy couple ran no risk now, for the sharpest spy would fail to recognize in the bowed-down invalid with vacant face, the once brilliant Victor de Gisons.
Harry had many talks with Jeanne concerning him. “What should we do, Harry,” the girl said over and over again, “if we could get Marie away and all get safe together to England, which I begin to despair now of our ever doing, but if we should do it what should we say to Marie? She thinks Victor is safe there. Only the other day, as you know, she sent us out a letter to him. What would she say when she learned on her arrival in England that Victor has all this time been lying broken down and in suffering in Paris?”
To this question Harry, for a long time, could give no answer. At last he said, “I have been thinking it over, Jeanne, and I feel that we have no right to take Marie away without her knowing the truth about Victor. His misfortunes have come upon him because he would stop in Paris to watch over her. I feel now that she has the right, if she chooses, of stopping in Paris to look after him.”
“Oh, Harry, you would never think of our going away and leaving her!”
“I don’t know, Jeanne, if it would not be best. She could stay in the disguise of a peasant girl with Jacques and his wife; they would give out that she was Victor’s sister who had come to nurse him. I have great hopes that her voice and presence would do what we have to do, namely, awaken him from his sad state of lethargy. They could stay there for months until these evil days are over. Jacques’ workmen friends are accustomed now to Victor being with him, and there is no chance of any suspicion arising that he is not what he seems to be, a workman whom Jacques picked up injured and insensible on that terrible night. It would seem natural that his sister or his fiance—Marie could pass for whichever she chose—should come and help take care of him.”
“Then if she can stop in Paris with Victor, of course we can stop with Louise?”
“I am afraid not,” Harry said. “Every day the search for suspects becomes stricter; every day people are being seized and called upon to produce the papers proving their identity; and I fear, Jeanne, there is no hope of permanent safety for you save in flight.”
It was just a month from the mock trial, at which Marie had been found guilty and sentenced to death, that Harry received a double shock. Among the letters of denunciation was the following: “Citizen, I know that you watch over the state. I would have you know that for more than seven months two girls have been dwelling with one Louise Moulin of 15 Rue Michel; there were three of them, but the eldest has disappeared. This, in itself, is mysterious; the old woman herself was a servant in the family of the ci-devant Marquis de St. Caux. She gives out that the girls are relatives of hers, but it is believed in the neighbourhood that they are aristocrats in disguise. They receive many visits from a young man of whom no one knows anything.”
Harry felt the colour leave his cheeks, and his hand shook as he hastily abstracted the note, and he could scarcely master the meaning of the next few letters he opened.
This was a sudden blow for which he was unprepared. He could not even think what was best to be done. However, saying to himself that he had at any rate a few days before him, he resolutely put the matter aside, to be thought over when he was alone, and proceeded with his work. After a time he came to the list of those marked out for execution on the following day, and saw with a fresh pang the name of Marie de St. Caux.
So the crisis had arrived. That night or never Marie must be rescued, and his plan of forging Robespierre’s signature must be put into effect that day. He opened the next few papers mechanically, but steadied himself upon Robespierre asking him a question. For a time he worked on; but his brain was swimming, and he was on the point of saying that he felt strangely unwell, and must ask to be excused his work for that day, when he heard a ring at the bell, and a moment later Lebat entered the room.
“I have just come from the tribunal, citizen,” he said, “and have seen the list for to-morrow. I have come to you, as I know you are just, and abhor the shedding of innocent blood. There is among the number a young girl, who is wholly innocent. I know her well, for she comes from my province, and her father’s chateau was within a few miles of Dijon. Although her father was a furious aristocrat, her heart was always with the people. She was good to the poor, and was beloved by all the tenants on the estate. It is not just that she should die for t
he sins of her parents. Moreover, henceforth, if pardoned, she will be no longer an aristocrat. I respond for her; for she has promised to marry me, the delegate of Burgundy to the Commune. The young woman is the daughter of the man called the Marquis de St. Caux, who met his deserved fate on the 2d of September.”
“You are willing to respond for her, citizen?” Robespierre said.
“I am. The fact that she will be my wife is surely a guarantee?”
“It is,” Robespierre said. “What you tell me convinces me that I can without damage to the cause of the people grant your request. I am the more glad to do so since my secretary has also prayed for her life. But though he rendered me the greatest service, and I owe to him a debt of gratitude, I was obliged to refuse; for to grant his request would have been to allow private feeling to interfere with the justice of the people; but now it is different. You tell me that, except by birth, she is no aristocrat; that she has long been a friend of the people, and that she is going to be your wife; on these grounds I can with a good conscience grant her release.”
Lebat had looked with astonishment at Harry as Robespierre spoke.
“Thank you, citizen,” he said to Robespierre. “It is an act of justice which I relied upon from your well-known character. I promise you that your clemency will not be misplaced, and that she will become a worthy citizen. May I ask,” he said, “how it is that your secretary, whose face seems familiar to me, is interested in this young woman also?”
“It is simple enough,” Robespierre replied. “He was in the service of her father.”
“Oh, I remember now,” Lebat said. “He is English. I wonder, citizen, that you should give your confidence to one of that treacherous nation.”
“He saved my life,” Robespierre replied coldly; “a somewhat good ground, you will admit, for placing confidence in him.”
“Assuredly,” Lebat said hastily, seeing that Robespierre was offended. “And now, citizen, there is another matter of importance on which I wish to confer with you.”
Harry rose.
“Citizen, I will ask you to excuse me from further work to-day. My head aches badly, and I can scarce see what I am writing.”
“I thought you were making some confusion of my papers,” Robespierre said kindly. “By all means put aside your work.”
On leaving the room Harry ran up to the attic above, which he had occupied since he had entered Robespierre’s service, rapidly put on the blue blouse and pantaloons which he had formerly worn, pulled his cap well down over his eyes, and hurried down stairs. He stationed himself some distance along the street and waited for Lebat to come out. Rapidly thinking the matter over, he concluded that the man would not present himself with the order of release until after dark, in order that if Marie struggled or tried to make her escape it would be unnoticed in the street. Lebat had calculated, of course, that on the presentation of the order the prison officials would at once lead Marie to the gates whether she wished it or not, and would, at his order, force her into a vehicle, when she would be completely in his power, and he could confine her in his own house or elsewhere until she consented to be his wife.
A quarter of an hour later Lebat came out of the house and walked down the street. Harry followed him. After walking for some distance Lebat came to a stand of hackney-coaches and spoke to one of the drivers. When he had gone on again Harry went up to the man.
“Comrade,” he said, “do you wish to do a good action and earn a couple of gold pieces at the same time?”
“That will suit me admirably,” the coachman replied.
“Let one of your comrades look after your horse, then, and let us have a glass of wine together in that cabaret.”
As soon as they were seated at a small table with a measure of wine before them Harry said:
“That deputy with the red sash who spoke to you just now has engaged you for a job this evening?”
“He has,” the coachman said. “I am to be at the left corner of the Place de Carrousel at eight this evening.”
“He is a bad lot,” Harry said; “he is going to carry off a poor girl to whom he has been promising marriage; but of course we know better than that. She is a friend of mine, and so were her parents, and I want to save her. Now what I want to do is to take your place on the box this evening. I will drive him to the place where he is to meet her, and when he gets her to the door of his lodging I shall jump off and give my citizen such a thrashing as will put a stop to his gallivanting for some time. I will give you ten crowns for the use of your coach for an hour.”
“Agreed!” the coachman said. “Between ourselves, some of these fellows who pretend to be friends of the people are just as great scoundrels, ay, and worse, than the aristocrats were. We drivers know a good many things that people in general don’t; but you must mind, citizen, he carries a sword, you know, and the beating may turn out the other way.”
“Oh, I can get a comrade or two to help,” Harry said laughing. “There are others besides myself who will not see our pretty Isabel wronged.”
“And where shall I get my coach again?”
“At the end of the Rue St. Augustin. I expect I shall be there by nine o’clock with it; but I am sure not to be many minutes later. Here is a louis now. I will give you the other when I change places with you. Be at the Place de Carrousel at half-past seven. I shall be on the look-out for you.
“I won’t fail,” the coachman said; “you may rely upon that.”
Harry now hurried away to his friend Jacques, and rapidly gave an account of what had taken place.
“In the first place, Jacques, I want your wife to see her friend and to get her to take a note instantly to the warder, for him to give to Mademoiselle de St. Caux. It is to tell her to make no resistance when Lebat presents the order for her release, but to go with him quietly; because if she appeals to the warders and declares that she would rather die than go with him, it is just possible that they might refuse to let him take her away, saying that the order was for her release, but not for her delivery to him. I don’t suppose they would do so, because as one of the members of the Committee of Public Safety he is all-powerful; still it would be as well to avoid any risk whatever of our scheme failing. I will drive to the Rue Montagnard, which, as you know, is close to La Force. It is a quiet street, and it is not likely there will be anybody about at half-past eight. Will you be there and give me a hand to secure the fellow?”
“Certainly I will,” Jacques said heartily. “What do you propose to do with him?”
“I propose to tie his hands and feet and gag him, and then drive to the Rue Bluert, which is close by, and where there are some unfinished houses. We can toss him in there, and he will be safe till morning.
“It will be the safest plan to run him through at once and have done with him,” Jacques said. “He will be a dangerous enemy if he is left alive; and as he would kill you without mercy if he had a chance, I don’t see why you need be overnice with him.”
“The man is a scoundrel, and one of a band of men whom I regard as murderers,” Harry said; “but I could not kill him in cold blood.”
“You are wrong,” Jacques said earnestly, “and you are risking everything by letting him live. Such a fellow should be killed like a rat when you get him in a trap.”
“It may be so,” Harry agreed; “but I could not bring myself to do it.”
Jacques was silent, but not convinced. It seemed to him an act of the extremest folly to leave so dangerous an enemy alive.
“He would hunt us all down,” he said to himself, “Elise and I, this poor lad and the girl, to say nothing of the Englishman and the girl’s sisters. Well, we shall see. I am risking my head in this business, and I mean to have my say.”
Having made all his arrangements, Harry returned to his attic and lay down there until evening, having before he went in purchased a sword. At seven o’clock he placed his pistols in his bosom, girded on his sword, which would attract no attention, for half the rabble of Paris
carried weapons, and then set out for the Place de Carrousel. At half-past seven his friend the coachman drew up.
“Ah, here you are!” he said. “You had better take this big cape of mine; you will find it precious cold on the box; besides he would notice at once that you are not the coachman he hired if you are dressed in that blouse.”
Harry took off his sword and placed it on the seat, wrapped himself in the great cape, wound a muffler round the lower part of his face, and waited. A few minutes after the clock had struck eight Lebat came along.
“Here we are, citizen,” Harry said in a rough voice, “I am glad you have come, for it’s no joke waiting about on such nights as this. Where am I to drive you to?”
“The prison of La Force,” Lebat said, taking his seat in the coach.
Harry’s heart beat fast as he drove towards the prison. He felt sure that success would attend his plans; but the moment was an exciting one. It did not seem that anything could interpose to prevent success, and yet something might happen which he had not foreseen or guarded against. He drove at a little more than a footpace, for the streets a short distance from the centre of town were only lighted here and there by a dim oil lamp, and further away they were in absolute darkness, save for the lights which gleamed through the casements. At last he reached the entrance to the prison. Lebat jumped out and rang at the bell.
“What is it, citizen?” the guard said looking through a grille in the gate.
“I am Citizen Lebat of the Committee of Public Safety, and I have an order here, signed by Citizen Robespierre, for the release of the female prisoner known as Marie Caux.”
“All right, citizen!” the man said, opening the gate. “It is late for a discharge; but I don’t suppose the prisoner will grumble at that.”
Ten minutes later the gate opened again and Lebat came out with a cloaked female figure. She hesitated on the top step, and then refusing to touch the hand Lebat held out to assist her, stepped down and entered the coach.